god one day Eddie’s gonna wake up and realize he deserves this—he deserves a life where he goes to bed happy and wakes up happy. he deserves to turn on his side and find Buck asleep next to him, his arms wrapped around the pillow he’s buried his face into and the duvet tucked up over his shoulders, and he’s dead to the world but so pretty, both of his feet between both of Eddie’s because Buck has cold feet but can’t stand sleeping with socks on. he deserves to scooch closer, slipping one hand beneath Buck’s shirt, palm flat to his chest so he can feel the rise and fall of each breath. Buck doesn’t wake up because Eddie’s touch is so familiar these days, but the corners of his mouth twitch as if toward a smile, bc even asleep his entire being knows when Eddie’s nearby. he deserves to kiss Buck’s temple and roll out of bed to find Chris in the kitchen, grumbling at the coffeemaker as it burbles and grunts, bc Chris is at the age now when he drinks coffee in the morning. Eddie leans against the counter next to him, bumping their elbows together, and Chris bumps his elbow back and rests his cheek on Eddie’s shoulder, squishing it and knocking his glasses askew—and these moments, these are the ones Eddie lives for, because Chris may be a teenager now, may be in high school too, but he’s still Chris. he still seeks casual touch (at least until the caffeine kicks in and he remembers he’s too cool to cuddle with his dad anymore) and knows it’ll be welcome. and when the coffee’s ready, Eddie fetches the creamer from the fridge and Chris pulls out three mugs, his own shaped like a rocket ship, Eddie’s shaped like a fire hydrant, and Buck’s the one Chris made for him when he was eight, his fingerprints caught forever in the ceramic, the wobbly tree trunks and stick figures and Chris’s careful eight year old handwriting. it’s the only mug Buck drinks his first cup of coffee from. it doesn’t taste the same if he chooses another. and Chris pumps the pumpkin spice torani syrup into Buck’s mug and Eddie tops it with a scoop of whipped cream and says “omelets sound okay?” and Chris shrugs one shoulder and says “Buck can make them so long as you do the seasoning” and Eddie snorts and says “always do” because Buck’s working on getting used to spice but it’s still in progress. and, hands full, Eddie ducks out of the kitchen and slips back into the bedroom. Buck has shifted onto his back and cracked his eyes open, heavy-lidded and bleary, and the corners of his mouth twitch again at the sight of Eddie nudging the door quietly shut, and Eddie sets their mugs down on Buck’s nightstand at the same time Buck lifts the corner of his duvet. with a smile and a hum Eddie climbs in, lying down on Buck’s chest and between Buck’s parted legs, and Buck sighs happily and pulls the duvet over them both before he wraps his arms around Eddie, and Eddie tucks his nose into Buck’s armpit and his arms beneath the pillows and he sighs, content, and Buck sighs back and tilts his head to brush and bury a kiss in Eddie’s hair, and he says “comfy?” and Eddie says “yeah” and closes his eyes. he’d never realized just how easy it is to let himself choose joy.
romaincrisis
gamechangershow
2087
pixelskylines
